


The Ballad of Howard TJ Moon and Vince K. Noir

by kateyboosh



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: And what Vince does to get out of it, Blowjobs, Crack, Gives a world class blowie too, Gratuitous descriptions of names that may or may not be relevant, Happy Ending, M/M, Poor Howard tho, Spring Cleaning, Vince gets sleepy after sex, awww, this is normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/pseuds/kateyboosh
Summary: We all know about Howard Tommy Jerry Moon, but just what does the K. in Vince K. Noir stand for?Find out in the Ballad.Sort of.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19
Collections: Trash Triplets Crackmas 2020: It's All About Range





	The Ballad of Howard TJ Moon and Vince K. Noir

**Author's Note:**

> We've all wondered about the K. in Vince K. Noir. This idea floated in my drafts for a long time and the holy spirit of Crackmas brought it out in full force. Enjoy!

_He looks ridiculous_ , is Howard’s first thought. 

He’s covered in some type of draped, fringey, woven nonsense, little bits of skin peeking out from the gaps in the panels. A vintage shawl nicked off the back of a sofa? A poncho gone wrong? An art installation? A curtain he got tangled in on the way here? 

Howard’s not sure, but he doesn’t care. He’d wrangled Vince here on their day off, cajoled and lectured and told him that it was of the utmost importance that he help, and Vince showed up, and that’s all that matters. Granted, he showed up eleven minutes late, and the fact that he’s wearing a crocheted nightmare that’s not at all appropriate for the task at hand is....

Unimportant. Immaterial. Completely and totally inconsequential. 

Howard knows when to pick his battles.

“You’re not doing the mirrors today, Vince,” Howard says, catching Vince by the wrist as he moves toward the sink, hand nestled in his hair, his favorite polishing cloth hanging out of the back pocket of his jeans.

Vince strains to reach his reflection like a stubborn dog on a leash strains to reach a cheeky squirrel that’s just out of reach. His voice is absentminded as he fluffs at the back of his hair. “Why not?”

Howard beams. “I’ve planned the day down to the minute, Vince. First, some light spring cleaning. Then, some slightly heavier spring cleaning. A break for lunch - no more than fifteen minutes, mind you, or we’ll be well off schedule,” Howard chuckles.

He’s slightly concerned Vince isn’t paying attention, what with the intensity that he’s studying a rogue bit of his fringe, but he continues. “Then, the heaviest spring cleaning for the afternoon, followed by an evening of-”

Howard pauses and takes a deep breath, waiting for Vince to turn. He’s fairly certain that Vince is sticking individual hairs up at this point, one by one, so he tugs at his wrist until he scowls and turns to face Howard.

Howard holds his hands open. He sees a bit of his own excited expression reflected back in Vince’s face, until he says, “Expanding our minds with some deep, intensive research into legal topics and questions. Naboo’s asked me to look in to some tax issues he’s been having, and… well, he hasn’t as much _asked_ outright as I heard him talking to Bollo the other day, and-”

Vince wrinkles his nose. He shakes his head as if he’s dazed. 

“Howard? It’s our day off. I’m not doin’ that.”

Howard considers for a moment. “Well… yes, it is our day off, but by the time we finish with the three spring cleaning brackets, it’ll nearly be Monday, and then it will be our day _on_. Ha, day _on_ , good one,” he chuckles to himself.

Vince doesn’t seem to get the joke, and for a moment, he’s tempted to explain it. Instead, Howard holsters his finger guns and checks his watch.

“Alright, grab a cloth and a bucket, we’re already sixteen minutes, forty-three seconds behind schedule. There goes lunch,” he laments, swinging around to the neat pile of supplies he’d stacked in the center of the floor, equally distributed so j cloths and disinfectants are reachable from every corner of the room.

“I’ll start on polishing the fixtures. Vince, you’re on wall-washing duty. Go on, quick, like a bunny,” he urges.

Vince chokes out a laugh and scoots up to sit on the ledge of the sink instead, swinging his dangling legs hypnotically. “Wash the _walls_? Who does _that_? Howard, you must be joking.” His amused giggles echo off the hard tiles and float down the hallway until he bites his bottom lip. “Come on, what are we really doin’?”

Howard raises a hand to stop him. His other hand drifts up to join its companion as he stares somewhere into the distance. 

“Joking? Never, sir. It’s a very important task, Vince, one that we need to take seriously, for our cleanliness is next to godliness. Yes, indeed. A clean flat is a happy flat, and a happy flat is a-”

Vince cuts Howard off, a darker scowl forming on his face. “As if I’m doing that.” He pauses and watches Howard’s hands come back down to his sides.

In contrast, Vince’s hand goes up to his hair. His lips purse ever so slightly as he ducks his head, his eyes darkening. There’s a slightly predatory tone in his voice when he speaks. “Although… if you do want me to polish the fixtures...”

Vince’s hips slide forward, his heels hitting the tiled floor silently as he moves forward, looping his fingers in the hem of Howard’s shirt.

“... I wouldn’t be averse.”

Howard blinks. He looks at the artfully arranged mandala of cleaning supplies on the floor, at a tiny crack in the edge of one of the tiles above Vince’s head. He looks at his sensible cleaning shoes and tries not to notice Vince’s cock straining against his tight jeans, or his own straining against the front of his sensible cleaning trousers.

He does not think of waking up in their bed that morning with Vince curled around him, half asleep, rubbing his very hot, very thick, very hard cock into Howard’s thigh, giggling and murmuring in his ear. He does not think about pinning Vince to the bed and sliding down his sleep-warmed body, his fingers rippling over Vince’s muscle and skin, and taking Vince in his mouth as he held him by his wiggling hips.

He certainly doesn’t think about the way his cock jumped in his sensible pajama boxers when Vince slung his leg over Howard’s shoulder and half-kicked him, half-tried to pull him closer, and moaned his full name, his breath catching in his chest somewhere between “Howard” and “T” and “J” and “Moon.”

If Howard listens closely, in between the sound of his heartbeat darting around his ears, he can still hear Vince’s voice caressing over every syllable of his name, “Howard Tommy Jerry Moon” ricocheting out of his wet pink lips as he came hard with Howard’s mouth wrapped tight around him, sighed, and fell back to sleep with Howard pulled over the top of him like a life-sized teddy bear.

Howard thinks about the carefully drafted spring cleaning schedule that he handwrote and plotted and agonized over, the one that’s tucked in the front pocket of his trousers.

His very sensible pair of very tented trousers.

The pair of trousers that Vince is currently unbuttoning, the pair of trousers that used to occupy Howard’s waist now pooled on the tiles of the floor next to Vince’s knees, Vince’s hands running up the backs of Howard’s slim, handsome legs as he nuzzles his face into the soft, warm cotton of the front of Howard’s pants.

Howard swallows thickly. He checks his watch.

If they’re already eighteen minutes and eight seconds late to start spring cleaning, they might as well postpone the first bracket until-

_Oh._

Howard gasps as Vince’s teeth grip the front waistband of his pants, his fingers sneaking into the back and tugging. His cock springs free as Vince lets the fabric fall out of his mouth, his tongue darting out teasingly to wet his bottom lip.

Howard’s fingers curl as he watches Vince smirk with an open mouth, his tongue outlining the O of his lips. “’S only fair, Howard,” he says, shuffling forward, the fringes of his… upper covering dragging whisper-soft against the tiles. His breath is hot on Howard’s bare thigh, his voice dreamy.

“Had a nice little sleepy after this mornin’.” He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Howard’s hip, swirling his tongue down to Howard’s groin. He breathes a muffled, “Let me make it up to you, Howard,” lips buzzing against his skin.

His eyes are wicked when he looks up at Howard through his fringe.

“Howard TJ Moon.”

Howard brushes a hand over Vince’s head, palming at his hair, and Vince leans into the touch, practically purring as he rests his cheek against Howard’s stomach. He’s barely gotten out what he wants to say, a brief statement on the importance of sticking to schedules and maintaining a certain standard of homemaking and cleanliness while also finding a balance between work and business and responsibilities and pleasure, when Vince hums out a “great, that’s genius, Howard,” and latches onto the tip of his cock, his lips and tongue sliding like velvet over his sensitive head. Most of his speech comes out as a hissed “Oh, Christy,” his hands clenching at his sides, his toes curling against the soles of his sensible cleaning shoes.

Vince practically giggles around him, swirling his tongue teasingly. He can’t ever resist going in guns blazing, eager as he is. Still, he wants to make it nice for Howard, as nice as Howard makes every time for him. He pulls off and wraps a hand around the base of Howard’s cock, brushing little light kisses along the entire length, tracing a vein with his tongue as he leans back.

He shifts forward on his knees and laps at Howard, licks him glistening wet from base to tip, alternating little swirls of his tongue with kisses and broad, flat swipes that make Howard’s breath leave his lungs in a rush. Vince smiles then, leaning back to watch Howard’s face, his eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed, as he strokes him a bit.

“Howard?” he asks softly, circling the head of Howard’s cock with his thumb, “C’n we spring clean next weekend and go to the cinema tonight instead? Only there’s a double feature playing, and-”

“Cleaning,” Howard grunts, his fluttering hand coming down to rest on the top of Vince’s head. “Walls. Uh. Scouring. Polishing. _Oh_. Polishing fixtures. Taps. Faucets. _Knobs_ ,” he gasps as Vince teases the tip of his cock between his lips. He rolls Howard’s foreskin back and sucks, drawing more of Howard into his mouth as Howard groans and cups the back of his head.

Vince gives him a bit more and pulls back off, moving his wrist steadily to keep a rhythm. “We’d better work on your dirty talk instead, Howard. Besides, you might like the second one, ‘s in black ‘n’ white. We can sneak Flying Saucers in…” Vince trails off, unable to resist a couple of cheeky licks that quickly turn back into him sliding Howard’s dick past his lips, matching the movement of his wrist.

Howard clears his throat, his fingers pressing into Vince’s scalp a little more forcefully. “We’ve got to - _oh, God_ \- oil the till and - _fuck_ \- balance the hinges and - _ah!_ \- disinfect the…”

Howard’s hand comes out of Vince’s hair, wavering in the air above Vince’s shoulder. He pops off. “Disinfect the countertops?” he supplies helpfully, jerking his head to sever the line of spit connecting his lips to Howard’s wet, aching cock.

“Yep,” Howard breathes, fingers curling back through Vince’s hair. “Oil the countertops, disinfect the till, balance the hinges, that’s ri-iii-iiiiight,” he gasps.

Howard knows what he just said makes no sense. He knows his voice skated up half an octave as his resolve crashed down another steep, Vince-shaped flight of stairs. He knows that Vince nearly has him, and that if he wants Vince to give him everything he wants, he has to give Vince everything he wants. He grimaces and moans again, caught between lamenting his crushed willpower and marveling at his mental capacity to analyze the situation when he can’t even stick to the basic tenets of his own task list.

Howard whispers a quiet apology to the corners of the ceiling where dust has collected and to the grout that’s gone gray with grime, and looks down to tell Vince that yes, they can go to the cinema, and yes, he’ll buy Vince wine gums and yes, he’ll get his popcorn sweet and let him skive handfuls out of the container resting in his lap without grumbling about any of it.

Vince pulls off and eyes him up, his hand faltering. “Why were you apologizing?”

“Oh, uh, nothing, it was nothing. A slip of the tongue,” Howard laughs, pushing his hips forward into the circle of Vince’s slowing hand.

“Mmm. I know all about those,” Vince hums, eyes latched onto Howard’s as he sticks his tongue out to tease at the underside of his cock, rotating his head to blink up at Howard innocently. 

Howard’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Perhaps we could change our plans... move things around in the schedule.” He stops talking as he feels Vince’s palm skate up the back of his thigh, fingertips pressing into his arse. Vince makes a little noise around him, bobbing his head as if in agreement as he slurps him up and sucks him down.

 _God, he’s incredible at this_ , Howard thinks, little bursts of electricity rocketing up his spine and through all of his extremities as Vince hollows his cheeks, kneading at his arse with one hand. Every happy little noise he makes buzzes around Howard, every thought of cleaning powders and spray bottles dissolving from his brain like an ice lolly left on tarmac in the sun.

When Howard’s close, Vince presses forward further, trying to take as much of him as possible. He’s clinging to Howard’s hips, his legs, his arse, so tightly that all Howard can remember is Vince’s cock in his mouth, his leg coming up to try to pull Howard closer, his name on Vince’s lips. He moans and Vince slides nearer, humming when Howard’s thumb smooths over his hollowed cheek.

Howard takes a breath. He starts out small. “Oh, Vince,” he says, voice low and rough, and Vince moans around him and Christ, it feels so good, he gets more adventurous. “Vince,” he says, curling his fingers in Vince’s hair and giving it a gentle tug, “Vince Noir. Mmm. _Vince. K. Noir_.”

Vince moans louder, pulling off to get his breath, his chest heaving, his eyes hazy. He laughs breathlessly, pressing a kiss to Howard’s stomach. “Yeah, that’s well sexy, much better.” He pants against his skin, digging his fingertips into the meat of Howard’s arse. “Go on, say it, Howard. Use my full name,” he says, blinking up at Howard as he sucks him back down.

Howard goes hot and cold all over at the same time. He’s so close, so close to what he knows is going to be one of the best orgasms of his life, he’d do anything Vince wanted, including shout Vince’s full name from the rooftops, write it in the sky, take full page ads out in all the papers.

If he knew what it was.

He grimaces. It’s just… never come up. They’d been friends and then boyfriends long enough that he’d passed the point of being able to ask, and any time Vince dumped paperwork that he needed filled out for school or work or passports for failed trips to America, Howard had penciled in a K. in the middle name section and Vince had never, ever questioned it.

Howard can feel Vince's eyes boring into his. Christ, even the suction he's giving Howard's cock, warm and perfect and wet, feels quizzical. He takes a deep breath and buries his hand in Vince's hair as he sucks harder. 

"Oh, Vince," he moans, "Vince K- _ohhhhhh_ \- Noir."

Vince hums and squeezes at Howard's arse and Howard's eyes nearly cross as Vince's lips touch his fist where it's wrapped around Howard's cock. He figures he can get away with that once, maybe twice more, and if Vince keeps it up just like this, it won't take long before he's seeing stars. 

Howard weighs his options. It’s all about achieving a balance. Howard is good at achieving a balance, yes sir. He’ll just-

" _Oh, yesssss_ ," Howard hisses. "Just like that, Vince, oh, Vince, _oh_ , _Vince K._ -"

He coughs, loudly and exaggeratedly, trying to hold his hips steady so as not to choke Vince. He finishes with a "Noir," growling out the R at the end. Vince likes that; he takes him a little deeper as he hears it, but every press of his fingertips into Howard's arse demands more. 

The feeling of Howard's impending orgasm pulsing up and down his spine is at odds with the slight panic sweat he feels breaking out all over his body. He scrubs his fingers into Vince's scalp and Vince moans a little. 

Maybe…

He tugs at Vince's hair, gently, and Vince's moan vibrates around him like water vibrates in a glass after someone's dropped a fucking massive landslide of boulders next to it. 

"Oh, god, Vince, I want to hear you," Howard pants, his eyes squeezed shut. "I need to, Vince-"

He gasps at the suddenness of the cool air on his dick, and chances opening an eye.

Vince's very wide eyes are soft but there's a touch of something else in them as he licks at Howard, his hand gently squeezing the base of his dick. 

Suspicion? 

Skepticism?

Howard cringes when he realizes it's vulnerability.

"C'mon, Howard, please?" Vince pants, his voice ragged. He presses his face into Howard's stomach, nuzzling, clinging to Howard. The zipper on his jeans is hanging on for dear life, but he hasn't made a move to touch himself. 

"I wanna hear _you_ , Howard," Vince breathes. "Please, say it for me." He laps along the length of him before taking Howard back in his mouth. 

Oh, Christy.

Howard squeezes his eyes shut and groans.

In between zaps of pleasure so sharp they nearly feel like a swarm of bee stings, he begs his brain to come up with something, to supply him, to implant the answer there if necessary. Surely, buried deep in the indexed, vaultlike recesses of his mind, somewhere, _some time_ , he's divined it. He's pressed his forehead to Vince's and every last thing about him had passed into Howard's brain through the pure will of osmosis. 

Howard's cock twitches against the inside wall of Vince's cheek.

 _Think, Howard, think_!

Suddenly, it hits him, slicing through the fog of his uncertainty like a John Coltrane solo through the waiting air.

Vince K. Noir is Vince Kale Noir.

He gasps.

Kale? Fucking _kale_?

No, that's a fucking leafy fucking green.

 _Kyle, not kale_ , Howard's brain reminds him. 

_Kyle_? Vince _Kyle_ Noir? No way, too laddy. Oh, Jesus, how does he do that-

"Christ, Vince, feels like you've got two tongues," he pants. It's a stall and they both know it, but Vince hums around him and presses his lips back against his own fist, and- 

Oh, fuck, he's so fucking good at this, and Howard's fucking horrible for not knowing.

Kelso?

Kafka?

Kerouac?

Kefir?

Kojak?

Kazimir? 

Surely, that's it. It has to be it, or Howard's done for. 

The name rolls off Howard's tongue like honey, his fingers arching through the now-tangled back of Vince's hair.

He watches Vince's eyes narrow as he hits the Z. He chokes it off, Kazimir, the keeper of peace thudding into Kasey. 

Kasey, for "observant." 

Fuck. 

_Really?_ Howard thinks to himself, as Vince pulls off him with a pop.

"What did you say, Howard?" Vince asks, his voice rough and low and as ragged as his top. 

His eyes are pinning Howard quiet and still. They're drenched with lust. Howard can only watch as Vince's hand comes off his cock, as Vince swipes across his mouth and chin with the palm. His tongue comes out to play at his bottom lip. His hair's a mess, his fringe askew, and his zipper's- 

Oh.

Howard feels a bit lightheaded as Vince's thumb reaches for his zip and meets with his index finger as if in a lust-induced slow motion vacuum of torture. He pops the button as an afterthought and takes himself out, wrapping his spit-slicked palm around his gorgeous pink cock and pumping and he's already leaking and flushed and god, he must be close already too; he never takes long after giving oral. The sight of him like this is nearly enough to make Howard come completely untouched, and Christ, he's teasing at his top lip as he wanks, his tongue sticking out pointed and sure as he leans in towards Howard-

Howard shudders, his hands grabbing at either side of Vince's head, strands of his hair curling around Howard's fingers as he laps against Howard's slit over and over, the sound of his hand pulling himself off beating rhythmically in Howard's ears.

"Fuckkkkkk," Howard stutters out. "Vince! Vince Keith Noir! Vince Kent Noir! Vince! Kermit! Klaus! Konstantin! Kestrel! Kelvis! Kurt! _Kurt!_ Oh, fuck, suck me, Vince Kurt Noir!"

Vince dives onto his cock, hand still working. He gets Howard down his throat just before he comes, the tight, wet heat of him sending every last bit of spare blood in Howard's body to his erection. Vince's whimpers around him send him over the edge, his hand flying rapidly over his cock where he's knelt between Howard's shaking legs, the fringe of his top snagged in Howard's trousers. 

It feels like neither of them is ever going to stop coming, locked together as they are, but then Howard shudders one final time and Vince's sticky hand falls limply off his cock onto the floor, and he leans his forehead against Howard's thigh before slumping onto the tile. Howard slides down the wall and joins him, their heavy breathing echoing off the hard tile sounding like shouts bouncing mad around a canyon.

Vince's arms wind around Howard's neck and he lets Howard give him a few lingering pecks, so maybe all hope isn't lost. 

Howard clears his throat when Vince breaks the chain of kisses and buries his face against Howard's neck, nuzzling at his scruff. He's so warm and sweet and lovely like this; he always is after.

Mostly because Howard hasn't ever called him a string of strange K names during a blowie.

"Vince?" he asks, fingers dipping under Vince's top to glide tentative over his back.

"Mmm?" Vince's voice is still a bit ragged but his tone is dreamy. 

"Was I… were any of those right?"

Howard can feel Vince musing against him. He stretches like a cat in Howard's arms before answering. 

"Hmmm. Prob'ly," he says.

"Alright, good," Howard agrees, relief flooding him as he drops a little kiss onto the top of Vince's head. A strand of hair tickles against the tip of his nose. Probably one of the ones Vince was sticking up individually, by hand, Howard thinks, smiling to himself.

That little strand of hair knocks a thought loose from Howard’s sated, yet still vaultlike and analytical, brain.

"Vince?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you mean, 'probably?'"

Vince cuddles into his chest. "You prob'ly got it right, Howard." He yawns. "One of 'em was close enough."

Howard pauses. He leans back to look at Vince, angelic in his afterglow, as docile as a kitten in sunlight.

"Yes, Vince, but… which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Which one was right? Which one was your middle name?"

Vince shrugs.

"I don't know. I thought you knew." 

Howard can’t help it. He sputters a bit. He tries not to get hysterical. “Vince, what do you mean, you don’t know? How do you not know your own middle name? What do you do for identification purposes?”

Vince’s eyes are closed, his lashes dark against his pink cheeks, the picture of relaxation without a care in the world. 

“Not much, really. I just get my face out, give ‘em a cheeky wink and a wave. Works every time.”

“What about your birth certificate?”

“Bryan prob’ly has it stapled somewhere on the walls under some bus tickets. Might be a bit of a task to find it.” Vince shifts so his head is better propped on Howard’s chest. He snickers. “He might’ve washed it away in the Great Spring Clean of 1997.”

Howard rolls his eyes and resists the urge to give Vince’s bottom a tweak.

“Vince. Just… how do you-? Why-? If you don’t know, and Bryan doesn’t know, then-?”

Howard cuts himself off. He blinks. He could be mad about his schedule being disrupted, he could be mad about the cold tile on his very bare bits, he could be mad about the stress Vince caused him during what was otherwise a top notch blowie.

Vince kisses at his neck, light and sweet, half-asleep, covered in sweat and rapidly-drying come and spit. His arms cling tight around Howard’s neck, his body warm and nearly dead weight against Howard’s chest.

Howard manages to sit up, dragging Vince with him. He gets his sensible cleaning trousers off from around his sensible cleaning shoes where they’re wrinkled and bunched, and kicks them over to crown the pile of abandoned cleaning supplies. Maybe it’s irony when he watches his task list float out of his pocket and fall between a bucket and a polishing cloth. Maybe it’s not.

Howard snags a spare bit of kitchen roll from the outside of the pile and cleans them both up the best he can with Vince clinging to him like a bush baby the entire time. He scoops Vince up after and his legs automatically curl around Howard’s waist. The walk back to their bedroom from the loo is short, quick, and bare-arsed on his part, but at least he has a dozing Vince for coverage should any shamans or gorillas appear suddenly in the hallway.

In the safety of their room, he lays Vince down on his side of the bed and brushes his fringe back from his forehead, and Vince leans into the touch.

“Howard? ‘M sleepy. C’n we have a nap before the cinema tonight?”

Howard pauses.

“Yep.”

He slides into their bed and pulls the duvet over them, and smiles when Vince snuggles into his side.

“Thanks, Howard,” Vince sighs. He manages to get the rest out just as he drops off into sleep. “Howard TJ Moon.”

Howard kisses his forehead. There’s warmth in his voice when he speaks.

“Sleep well, Vince. Vince K. Noir.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I had to pick the most relevant possible K name for the K., I personally think it's Kurt.


End file.
